Company of Kings
by Graver7
Summary: One private finds military life a little less glamorous than the stories he's heard.


Company of Kings

They say war does strange things to a man.

No one could know this better than me.

We were, as the Shadow Marshals would say, "deep in the heart" of hostile territory. More accurately in my book, a real crap-hole on the planet Quarzan called Broggin City. Not unlike the slums of Vekta, in the months leading up to our arrival it had been reduced to a maze of war-torn streets and immolated husks that once housed happy people. Quarzan was never supposed to see this kind of devastation, but thanks to the efforts of some of our most prized soldiers, the enemy lines on Vekta had been crushed and the Helghast were forced to seek an alternative battle ground. Thus forth, the Battle of Brog was set in motion.

And now here I am, a lowly ISA commando--a volunteer, if you can believe that--laying face down in a ditch, trying to keep my ass from getting fragged. When I signed up I never thought I'd actually see combat. After all, we had an entire planet worth of very capable men ready to deploy at a moment's notice to fight the Helghast forces. Never in a million years did I think one of them would be me.

I'm nothing special, just a kid looking for first class citizenship. If you want any perks in this day and age you've got to be either famous as hell or you have to have been in the service. Up until last year, I was neither. I mean, yeah, the war was in full swing and all, but it didn't make any sense that a shrimp like me should be fighting under the command of "the" Captain Jan Templar.

I breathe deep and try to take it in stride, telling myself it's a good learning experience. Then a shockwave rattles my teeth and when I look up I see the glowing eyes of a Helghast Elite. I reach for my weapon, but the head just rolls on by.

My eyes instinctively scan along the rooftops, and briefly I think I see the elongated, sound-suppressed barrel of a Marshall's sub-gun, but when I look again I see only the scorched red sky beyond the buildings.

Before I know it someone is screaming at me, "Get up, Private! Move! Move!"

I claw my way out of my cozy little hiding place and head for the other side of the street, ducking my head as burning hot rounds from a Helghast's assault rifle zip by my head. The sound reminds me of summers as a kid when carpenter bees would scatter at the entrance to my grandfather's barn, when they'd fly right by my ears, buzzing so loud…and then, silence.

Thank God those rifles are about as accurate as the ancient AK-47.

"I said move your ass!" I'm getting yelled at again. Great.

On the other side of the street, I jump through the broken window of some kind of candy shop. Two other ISA soldiers are in there, providing us with covering fire. I turn to take out some of my stress on the guy who was hassling me, but I soon realize the error of my mistake when I meet the flaring nostrils of my irritated commander, Sergeant Rico.

"The next time I tell you to move it, I swear to--"

He stops abruptly when another sound even more annoying than his voice cuts through the staccato gunfire. A long, arcing _whistle_.

"Get down!" He yells immediately before the road outside the shop explodes in a billowing cloud of dust and flame. Oh, and the roof falls down on all of us.

I don't know how much time passes, but eventually a piece of the ceiling is pulled off of me and I'm being hauled to my aching feet by the Sarge and my personal idol--a stoic and iron-willed half breed by the name of Hakha. I didn't even know the Colonel was supposed to be here, but just coming face to face with one of the ISA's most daring spies puts the wind back in my sails.

"On your feet, soldier." He says, his voice raspy but strong.

"Yes sir!" That's me.

"Hakha! Get your egghead over here! We've got tanks at twelve o' clock!" Sergeant Rico yells above the raging sound of battle all around us. I look down the street and see two Helghast destroyers rolling our way. My guess is it was one of them that caused the blast that trapped me. Maybe it was the adrenaline, or being in the presence of such prominent war heroes, but I was beginning to itch for some payback.

About twenty yards ahead, a squad of our guys armed with one of our new-edition RPGs sets down in the middle of the road. Two on each side are covering a third while he sights the first tank. He fires and the rocket speeds out like jackrabbit with a snake on its tail. The sound of the impact is massive, and seconds later when the smoke clears I see a pile of rubble where the tank had been.

"Yes!" I cry out in my excitement.

"It ain't over yet, kid!" Rico roars over the bursts of his hip mounted auto-rifle.

And he's right. While our guys hunker down in the road reloading the tube, the second tank rolls over the guts of the first and before any of us can do anything it fires, and our guys instantaneously become nothing but a memory.

"Dammit!" Rico snarls, but its not over yet. Not if I can help it.

The men may have been vaporized, but the RPG skids to a halt just a few yards in front of the shop, and suddenly the bloodlust overcomes me and I rush into the fray, heedless of the Sarge's profanity-laced condemnations towards me. I know our guys managed to reload the launcher, and even though it's smoking and painfully hot to the touch, I hoist it to my shoulder anyway and aim the best I can since the scope was obliterated in the blast. After a final prayer I depress the trigger, and a great plume of smoke envelopes me as the projectile screams downrange, right into the barrel of that bastard tank.

I throw the burning launcher to the street and listen to the cheers of my fellow soldiers, invigorating me with a new found strength and drive. I scream my victory cry and raise my arms into the air. Then I look up towards that disgusting sky and see the biggest damn piece of burning shrapnel in the universe heading right towards my head.

Hooray for me.

The End


End file.
